Unstoppable Forces & Immovable Objects
by twriter12
Summary: A collection of one-shots involving Pitch's Mike Lawson, Ginny Baker, and pals. Sometimes friends, sometimes more, always a bond.
1. Being Ginny

It was a grueling game. Ginny struggled but was thankful Al allowed her to get through the fifth inning so she had a chance at the win. When you didn't have your best stuff, when every at-bat was a grind, it took a lot of you physically and mentally. But that hope for a win, and getting back to a .500 record fell apart when Capps entered the game and gave up two runs. He apologized for costing her the win but it wasn't necessary. Thanks to Blip's two stolen bases and Mike's walk-off double, they won the game. In the end, that was all that mattered. Still, she hadn't pulled herself out of the mental drain that tended to put her in a funk.

It was almost midnight when she departed her private dressing area, a closet she shared with extra baseballs and other equipment, and saw him sitting at his locker. She stopped in her NIKE tracks and contemplated heading back to wait for him to leave. But Mike would wait her out until the next night out of spite, not to mention his tyrannical ways. His locker gave him an unobstructed view of the entire clubhouse in general and specifically to the hallway that led to her closet. She couldn't escape this confrontation. And when it came to all things Ginny Baker, the man seemed to have a sixth sense. The hair on his neck probably stood on end when she was headed his way. So, if anyone would still be there waiting for her, it would be him, and rightfully so after her outburst in the training room.

"Wanna tell me why you bit my head off?" He was slouching in his chair with his focus still on his phone.

She and Mike had their share of tense moments, but she never snapped at him. Not like that. Not him - her captain, catcher, childhood hero, sometimes savior.

All he asked for was a small concession; it required interrupting her session with the trainer so he could look at Mike's leg. It's something she would have done without blinking had it been any other day. But today was the final straw in a week of concessions. And it was shitty of her to care since the entire San Diego Padres organization did nothing but make concessions for her every day since she arrived. They changed the way they did almost everything because of her tornado-like presence.

She crossed the clubhouse, over the large interlocking S and D in the middle of the room. She stood before him, feeling like she had been called on the proverbial carpet. It was like she had been summoned and now she was waiting for her punishment by the team captain. He wasn't speaking, instead staring at her. The silence made her uncomfortable. Made her feel more guilty, more embarrassed.

"Sorry," she mumbled, needing to hear something, even her own voice. She gripped the shoulder straps of her backpack.

His eyes narrowed on her for a moment. "I didn't ask for an apology, Baker. I want an answer."

His gaze was too much for her to handle. She looked around the clubhouse. It was once again perfect. There were no longer uniforms, towels, and equipment strewn across chairs and tossed on the floor. She loved the clubhouse when it was like this. It was the picture of perfection and order. Uniforms hanging neatly. Bats above lockers, shoes neatly lined up at the bottom of the lockers. There was nothing out of place. Cleanliness and order gave her peace and calm like working up a good sweat. Funny enough, she hated to clean.

"Every day I'm reminded how different I am. I'll never fit in. Besides, I'm learning the cost of fitting in is high. Maybe too high."

"I didn't know I was asking so much of you," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Had it been anyone else, the surliness would have made her believe they were headed for an argument, but with Mike, it was his nature. She was a lot more comfortable and sure of where they stood when he was this way than if he was smiling and being cheerful.

"You weren't. It wasn't you. It..."

"Spit it out. What's going on with you? Is it...you know?" He made some weird gesture with his hands.

She knew what he was trying to ask. It's what all women were asked, especially those who were around men as much as she was. "No. You guys fit in by listening to a guy's country music in the clubhouse when you like rap or rock. I'm supposed to fit in by being okay with guys accidentally walking in on me in the shower."

He frowned.

"Not here." She removed her backpack and sat on the floor before him. "There was another story about the high school girl in Florida. The one who was raped by her teammate. It's scary because you never think anything will happen to you. That could have been me so many times in the minors. All because I wanted to fit in and get along, never say no even when I want to. Can't rock the boat. I can't even make a big deal about sexist, disgusting jokes or I'm the one causing problems."

She had to speak up for Al when he made his sexist comments about her and though he was wrong she did it because she wanted to defend her manager. He was a good man from a different era still catching up with a new world where women weren't simply wives and daughters. She also knew if she hadn't spoke up for him, people would have blamed her for the media raking him over the coals for his own words.

"I don't want to have to give up a little of myself to fit in. At least not that way. And besides, no matter how much of myself I give up, it will never be enough. If I say something I'll be accused of being sensitive when in reality it's them who are being jerks or misogynist or-"

"I'm sorry about slapping your ass," he blurted out. "I thought I was treating you like one of the guys."

"You were, the second time. Not the first."

The first time he used her, and her body, as a joke in order to make his friends laugh. She watched him to see if he would admit it. It hurt because he wasn't just her teammate, he could walk on water. And in less than thirty seconds, he was human and flawed, and a bit of the luster was gone. To be honest, it made it easier for her to work with him, be his teammate.

He nodded. "Not the first. I'm sorry."

She learned long ago that people made mistakes, especially boys and men who didn't know how to treat her. Her life was filled with awkward encounters but a scorched earth response didn't have to be her way of handling them.

"I forgive you."

"The best way to fit in is to not worry about trying to prove it. If you spend all your time trying to convince others you belong then you've lost. You put in the work and do your job. You can't control what people do after that. Open-minded people will respect your work. You can't worry about the neanderthals. You and that lollipop fastball belong here with all these other guys right here."

She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. "This is supposed to be my safe place, you know what I mean?"

"I do and it is."

"I feel safe here, but," she said as she shook her head. "At any moment someone could violate the trust I give so freely for the sake of trying to fit in."

"No. Not here. Not ever. I would never let that happen."

She saw the fire in his eyes. She believed him and instantly felt better. He had been a source of comfort for her since her second start. That's why he was captain. It wasn't something bestowed on the oldest player or the one with the most tenure with team - even though that was the case for Mike. Team captain in baseball was something serious. Bigger than a quarterback or a point guard. It was steeped in tradition. It was an honor that had to be earned and then some. You literally had to give blood, sweat, and a lot of tears. Mike did that three times over for the Padres.

"You don't want to fit in," Mike said. "Fitting in is overrated. Why settle for being one of the guys? You're more than that and I think you should embrace it."

She screwed up her face into a frown.

He leaned forward, arms on his thighs. "When I was a kid all I wanted to do was be like the other kids, but I wasn't. After practice when all the kids who go to the city pool or go play video games I had to stay behind for more practice."

"Why? You weren't good?"

"The opposite. I was so much better than the other kids. I told one of my coaches I just wanted to be like the other kids. He told me I'd never be one of the guys because I was too talented. I stood out, even among the best. If I didn't accept that, learn how to deal with it I wouldn't have made it. Don't sabotage yourself by trying to be like everyone else, you're more."

She smiled. "My lollipop fastball is more?"

"No." He rolled his eyes. "You're more."

She would never admit it, but sometimes she said and did things just to elicit that eye roll of his. These were some of her favorite moments. When time slowed down, when the world was on mute and she was with him. Because other than Blip, Mike didn't treat her like a freak show. I could appreciate what she was going through but he also didn't let that control his every interaction with her when they weren't on that field.

"What does that mean? I'm more?"

"You've probably never heard of them. I mean, you didn't know Wally Pipp so I'm sure Curt Flood and Marvin Miller mean nothing to you, but they changed this game and it had nothing to do with anything done on the field. You keep your head on straight and you can do the same. I know we're in an age of empty quotes and they give you guys more media training than actual baseball instruction, but you don't have to keep silent when it comes to the big stuff. Especially about things that affect you and definitely not in here." He waved his arm. "You're not a guest in here, Baker. This clubhouse is as much yours as anyone else's...except me of course."

"I thought you hated my feminista rants?" She laughed.

"I do but I trust you not to get all carried away."

She wasn't interested in becoming the voice of a generation and she didn't feel obligated to have an opinion on everything let alone tell the world.

"It's not easy being you and I'm sure it's even harder than I know. But you're doing a damn good job."

He stood up, signaling the end of their talk. She did the same, but while she popped up off the floor like she bounced off a trampoline, he eased out of the chair. Of all the positions, time was most cruel to a starting catcher. He once said all that time felt like dog years on his knees and back. Surely, he couldn't wait to get home and in bed, but there was he was waiting around checking on her.

"Come on," he said. "I'll drop you off at your hotel."

"Oh, that's okay. You don't have to go out of your way. I can walk."

"It's half a mile, Baker. It's not out of my way. I don't need Ginny Baker getting accosted on the streets of San Diego. Who knows what kind of trouble you'd find."

Attention did seem to follow her. All she prayed for was a day without drama and a good start every fifth day. Anything other than that seemed greedy.

"Thanks," she said.

"Don't mention it. I mean, really don't mention it. If anyone found out about these Oprah moments I'd never live it down."

She laughed.

He groaned. "That laugh."

That only made her laugh harder and louder. The only sound was their laughter as they made their way to the players' parking lot.


	2. Sharing Christmas

Mike gently placed the needle on the _Beggars Banquet_ record when there was a knock on the door followed by an obnoxious ringing of the doorbell three quick times. He looked at his watch. "Right on time," he muttered with a shake of his head and a smile.

When most people weren't on time it was because they were late; not Baker. She was always early. Way early. Inconveniently early. So though they agreed she would come to his place at noon, he expected her now, a good forty-five minutes early. She peered through the glass on the side of the door with a box in her hands and her backpack on her back. He was still in a pair of gray sweatpants, T-shirt, and a pair of socks.

He opened the door and blocked the entrance. He nodded at her box. "What's that?"

"I figured you wouldn't have any decorations," she said as she pushed past him. "I got a Christmas tree, some tinsel, little miniature snowmen, fake snow."

The Christmas tree was small, like one of the Charlie Brown type trees. He wanted to take it outside and burn it — put it out of its misery. The wilted branches didn't look strong enough to hold an ornament. She held the box and watched him as he rifled through it like she was at some security checkpoint.

"You can use everything but the fake snow. That stuff will be everywhere and you're taking all that back with you," he said.

"Don't be a Grinch."

Her head was on a swivel. That's when he remembered this was her first time at his place.

"Want the two-dollar tour?"

She frowned. "What's that get me?"

He shrugged. Was that even a thing? He wasn't sure. He bought the place after he and Rachel split. There was no way he could live in the house they shared. They picked that house out together. He didn't want to be reminded of his failed marriage every morning he woke up. He still loved her, so the thought of flashbacks of the amazing sex they had in the shower wasn't high on his list of things to experience. He didn't want to be reminded of the time she cried at the dinner table when he did particularly well on making her birthday special.

This place — modern, sleek, with its glass walls and all things male was the opposite of the home Rachel created for him. The first real home he ever had.

"Glad I wore a sweater." She placed the box on the glass table near the entrance then rubbed her hands together.

The weather was in the low sixties. No need for heat; it was perfect. Despite her smart-ass comment he noticed she wasn't wearing a jacket though her nose was slightly red.

"Well, am I getting the tour?"

"Was it this? The Louvre? Have at it. You won't get lost."

She rolled her eyes at his gruff demeanor then mumbled something about him being a bad host as she walked further into the house.

While she walked around the downstairs looking at everything on display he took the time to take her in. She was in a thin red sweater, jet-black jeans, and black boots that made that distinctive feminine clacking sound across hard floors. It wasn't fancy but definitely different than her workout gear. He rarely saw a casual Baker. He didn't have the luxury of seeing her that way in high pressure situations. She was a rookie pitcher he had to mentor and mold. When she wasn't walking a red carpet or sweating it out in the gym, she looked like a normal 23-year old girl. Woman. Seeing her this way made him realize just how young she really was.

She looked up and then over him eyes stretched relaying a silent question.

"Go ahead," he said.

She headed upstairs.

With neither parent in his life, he was the only orphan of the team. This was Mike's first Christmas as a divorced man. After years of loneliness he relished his time as part of Rachel's family. He clung to them. Played golf with Rachel's father. Went out on the boat fishing with her brother. He missed them as much as he missed her. As the only orphan on the team, the offers poured in from his teammates and Al to join their families but he turned them all down. Even Livan wasn't alone; he was in Miami with a fellow Cuban defector who played for the Marlins and his family. He hated being the object of pity.

But Baker? She had a family. But she was barely interested in spending the holiday with her mom let alone her mom's boyfriend. And according to Blip, her relationship with her brother was so tense they hadn't spoke since he was last in San Diego. Mike assumed she would spend the day with Blip's family but when she heard Evelyn's family would be there as well she opted out. Baker could handle pitching in front of 40,000 people but small talk with even a few people who weren't baseball players was too much.

So that's how they came to be the two lonely Padres celebrating Christmas together.

He was in the kitchen when Baker descended the stairs. She had been up there for a while, making him nervous of what she may have discovered. There was no sex dungeon or crazy things lying around, not that he knew of. But Baker wasn't like their other teammates. They would absolutely go through his drawers and in his closets.

"What you got?" She began taking the decorations out of the box she brought.

Evelyn and her mom insisted they not eat frozen pizza, so they made Blip deliver a Christmas feast care package. There were endless containers of food that Mike had strict instructions to return in no less than three days. Blip assured him he disobeying would bring the wrath of Evelyn Sanders. Mike didn't need a warning, he had seen that woman in action on more than one occasion. She was tiny but scary.

He would have to send Evelyn's mom something nice. She prepared two roast chickens especially for them because neither he nor Baker liked turkey or ham. He would say there was too much food, but he saw Baker eat. Nothing would go to waste.

"Everything."

She entered the kitchen and opened a container. "Ooh, I love Evelyn's homemade cranberry sauce. I hope this is her mom's apple pie."

"There's pumpkin pie too," he said.

She frowned and looked over. "I highly doubt it."

"What do you mean?"

" _Pumpkin_ pie? Are you sure?" She walked over to stand next to him.

"I know what a pumpkin pie looks like, Baker."

She laughed. "We'll see."

"I didn't really like Christmas growing up. I've always been more of a Thanksgiving person."

"Why?"

"It was more about the food and less the feelings." She shrugged.

He stared at her. If he didn't know about the panic attacks, didn't see her quit on the mound in her first outing he wouldn't think she was human. Emotions weren't high on her list. She was more like a machine. He was the opposite, full of emotions and feelings, even though he tried to hide them. Self-preservation. He gave his heart to Rachel and she left him. Wore his heart on his sleeve for the front office to see and they couldn't wait to trade him so they could move on to life after Mike Lawson, Mr. Padre.

"You seem to be in the Christmas spirit." He pointed at the reindeer antlers hairband she put on her head.

"Growth." She smiled.

"I'm going to get dressed."

"No need to get dressed up for me."

"I'm not. Someone arrived an hour early."

"Hmm, I wonder what you'll wear?" She tapped her lips with her index finger as she looked up. "I'm thinking button-down shirt and blue jeans."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong but she wasn't. He just shook his head and went upstairs before he cracked and smiled. She could be a pain in his ass but lately he never laughed more than when she was around despite her high strung ways. He liked to think he helped her relax a bit too.

The plan of the day was a food and movie marathon. They ate three different times and alternated movie choices — her choice then his. She got the day started with _A Christmas Story_ , he chose _Trading Places_. She chose _Home Alone_ , he chose _Gremlins_. Her final selection was _Bad Santa_. By evening, the drop in the temperature demanded he turn on the heat. She removed boots and sweater to expose a black tank top. She was sipping on his famous boozy hot chocolate. It required finely chopped semisweet chocolate, hot milk, whiskey, a peppermint stick, and topped with mini marshmallows. She was on her third and drank them entirely too fast.

He planned on spending the day waiting for it to be over but he had to admit he had fun. He chose the final movie of the night, the ultimate Christmas movie, _Die Hard_. The lights were dim and the movie had just ended.

"That movie could have happened anytime. It is _not_ a Christmas movie," she said as she shook her head.

"Would they have an office Christmas party in March?"

She frowned.

"Case closed."

He wondered when she would notice he had placed a present for her under that sad little tree. When he looked over at it he frowned at the second gift wrapped in red and white striped wrapping paper. He looked over at her to see her staring at him with a smile on her face.

"Finally, you noticed." She spoke louder than she realized. Baker and alcohol were a funny combination. "Can we open our gifts now?" She didn't wait for an answer.

He followed her over to the tree. She handed him his gift.

"You first," they said in unison.

"Guest first," he said.

"Now I'm a guest. You've had me working since the moment I arrived."

She placed a few things in the oven and put a few dishes in the dishwasher.

"Baker."

She examined the small box and looked up at him with those ever curious eyes. "You wrapped this?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"It's perfect. Didn't know you had that skill."

He was glad she noticed. It took a YouTube video and half a roll of gold and white wrapping paper he would never use again to get it just right.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Baker."

She slid the white satin bow off the gift. Delicately, as if she planned on keeping the paper, she unwrapped the gift.

"Mike," she said breathlessly. She may have been raised on baseball fields but even she knew the infamous Tiffany Blue Box when she saw it.

She opened the box and her eyes widened. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

It would have been too easy to get her something with a baseball. When he was shopping he saw the necklaces and thought of her but most of the pendants were love or hearts and he was about to give up when he saw the sterling silver necklace with the anchor charm; it was the one. It said a lot. How he saw himself in her life — her baseball life at least.

"I wasn't sure if you'd like it."

"I love it. Will you?" She handed it to him and turned her back to him.

He couldn't breathe for a moment when she lifted her hair on top of her head. He had a hard time clasping it. His fingertips traced over her delicate skin. It felt so intimate and that swan-like neck of hers would have received a kiss if it didn't belong to Baker, his rookie pitcher.

She turned. "Well?"

"Perfect."

"Thank you."

Before he knew it she hurled her body toward him and wrapped her arms around him. He hadn't hugged her since the night before his almost-trade to Chicago. Just like that night, his eyes closed at the feel of her body against his. He didn't know how to deal with her when they touched like this because, sure she was his rookie pitcher, but he was a man who couldn't help but notice she looked like no teammate he'd ever had before.

He stepped back and out of her grasp. He learned from that last hug to cut it short before thoughts entered their minds. "Uh here." He handed her the white envelope with 'Ginny' scrawled across it.

She looked at him before taking it from his hand. Then she opened the envelope and pulled out the card with the best version of his awful handwriting on it. He held his breath becoming more nervous and unsure with each word she silently read. She looked up and eager eyes were now unreadable and glistening. He wanted her to know that he respected her, admired her.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He held up his gift. "If this has anything to do with old age or-"

"Just open it."

He unceremoniously ripped the paper until he stared at a vinyl record. The Jimi Hendrix Experience's _Are You Experienced?_ album. "You didn't have to do this Baker."

"Says the guy who bought me a million-dollar necklace."

"Not quite but feel free to think so."

She laughed.

"How did you know I'd like this?" He stood there feeling like a kid with a new toy. Turning it over and expecting every inch of it.

"I heard you talking to Sonny about wanting to get it. I'm hoping I beat you to it."

"You did."

"Well, put it on. Let's hear what all the fuss is about."

They sat on the couch and listened to the perfect mix of rock, R&B, and blues as she drank one more boozy hot chocolate. An hour later, when the album was finally done, he looked over to see her sleeping.

It was early but it had been a long day and mixed with whiskey, it was no surprise she was out. He, on the other hand, only had a few beers and was wide awake. He looked at his watch and realized he could still catch the evening NBA game.

"Night, rook." He covered her with a blanket before heading upstairs.


	3. Sacrifice of the Heart

With her legs stretched out in front of her, Ginny stared at her black high top Chuck Taylors. She and Mike were in Point Loma just before sunset. There were a few people roaming around because apparently this was a must-do while in San Diego and it was shocking to him that she hadn't experienced it. She reminded him she had only been in San Diego a couple of months. Not long enough to do anything except be the subject of two club house fights, run away from her own NIKE party, get caught wearing a rival company's shoes after signing a huge contract, break down on camera in front of a complete stranger, cause a nude selfie scandal, speak out on sexual assault during a late-night show appearance, and obnoxiously demand her GM not trade her friend. Who had time for sunsets?

She turned her head in his direction. "I've seen a sunset before, you know?"

He grunted. He had that down perfect. It was quite crumudgeony old man of him right along with the eye rolls, judgmental head shakes, and unsolicited advice.

She had been aloof with him since Amelia told her they were seeing each other. It felt like the right move to make, creating some distance. Distance out of respect for him, for Amelia, for whatever it was the two of them had going on. Distance so she didn't have to feel the pang in her chest and lump in her throat she felt when Amelia told her. Those feelings were most surprising along with the disappointment and embarrassment. She had an idea why she felt that way but she didn't want to admit it. She wasn't sure she wanted to admit it. But the time would come when she would have to reckon with why she felt some type of ownership over Mike's time and attention, at least more than Amelia.

And thanks to Amelia he knew Ginny didn't have plans on their off day which is how she ended up out here. Probably found out during pillow talk. That was a vision she didn't need. She was about to watch another episode of her _Pretty Little Liars_ binge when he started banging on her door. Ignoring him was impossible once he began screaming her name. He was adamant she get dressed and leave her hotel and she finally relented with the promise of a surf and turf burrito from Mariscos Mi Gusto Es.

"In fact," she said. "I've seen a lot sunsets and in different places, too. North Carolina, Texas, Arizona, New Mexico." She put up a front but hanging with Mike, and not during a game, beat Netflix by a mile.

"Not like this Baker. Now be quiet or you'll ruin it." It felt like he was picking up where Al left off. Their manager started giving her life beyond baseball lessons ever since her splash dunk in the pool.

This behavior from Al was one thing, all this calm and quiet didn't seem like it was up Mike's alley, but then again, she wasn't sure why she was surprised by anything he said or did because she didn't know him. Stats on the back of a baseball card doesn't give any insight into a man. But still, watching the sun set on the cliffs overlooking the ocean? Kind of a surprise. It intrigued her. There was so much to him and he never gave a glimpse of who he was beyond Mike Lawson — future hall-of-famer and narcissist. She wanted to know more.

The sky's mixture of pink, orange, gray and white was mesmerizing. The evening was still. Still and quiet. So quiet, the buzz of Mike's cell phone startled her.

"It's just a phone, Baker."

He pulled it out of his jacket pocket then quickly put it away but not before she saw Amelia's name. Here he was, a single guy with no kids on a day off and he was babysitting her. Because this little field trip wasn't due to his bored. It's not like there weren't other ways for him to spend his time — Amelia's call was proof of that. She took up so much of his time - in the clubhouse and now off the field. As much as she enjoyed his company, as silent as it may be, she should set him free of feeling responsible for her.

"I _may_ have had you on a pedestal. Little duckling following you around and all."

She saw him cringe. It wasn't the reaction she was going for. She didn't throw his words in his face to make him feel as bad as he made her feel the day he said them to her. It was a brutal blow and she agreed with him, though not the delivery. But nothing in her life was subtle; no reason the hard truth should be. She got over it quick; it was merely a brief bruise to the ego. After all, she was a graduate of the Bill Baker school of tough love.

"You've got your own things to worry about. Your knees, your career, life after baseball, dealing with your pain in the ass ex-wife." She smiled slightly because she knew the truth about his love for his ex-wife. Blip couldn't keep a secret from Evelyn and Evelyn couldn't keep a secret period. "Sorry I put that on you; it was unfair. You're the captain and catcher, not my therapist or mother or- "

"Don't say father."

She smiled. He was both amused and annoyed by being surrounded by kids in the clubhouse. "I wasn't. You've cared more about my feelings than my father did his entire life."

He stared at her, that gentle frown on his face when he struggled to understand her. She shrugged off the pity she saw in his eyes. She had come to accept her complicated relationship with her father because that's all she could do. There was no way to hash it out with him unless seances were real. Her father loved her and wanted her to have the world, that was never in doubt. He just had a hard time showing it.

"The duckling thing, I'm sorry about that. I had a bunch of stuff on my mind and took it out on you. But uh, that's not what I want to talk about."

"So you did bring me out here to talk. Not to watch the sunset."

"No, I brought you here to watch the sunset. I could have talked anywhere." He cleared his throat. Stretched his neck, took a deep breath.

This was going to be deep. Deeper than he was comfortable with, deeper than she wanted.

"Amelia and I-"

"Nope." She attempted to stand in order to avoid this conversation because there was nothing about Amelia and Mike's relationship that she wanted to hear, but he grabbed her arm and prevented her from moving. It wasn't so much that he prevented her, rather he suggested she remain with a gentle touch. She could leave if she wanted; his grip wasn't that tight and if she was insistent he'd respect that.

"Baker."

It wouldn't have killed him to throw a please in there but she settled down next to him.

"It seems to bother you. What I want to know is — why?"

She could feel his eyes on her. What was she supposed to say? Yes, she really did have his poster on her bedroom wall? That she still had his rookie card? She had been loyal for a decade before he knew she existed? That she was selfish? He was hers. Not Amelia's. Amelia, who didn't know the difference between a triple play and a triple double. But she said none of that. Instead...

"My life is compartmentalized for a reason. I don't need you two sharing notes," she said softly.

Mike knew about her quitting her first start. Amelia knew why she didn't date ballplayers. Mike knew her desire to be ' _just a ballplayer_ ' while Amelia knew she agreed to be more when she signed on Amelia's dotted line. One person knowing everything about her made her feel vulnerable, susceptible to being betrayed and hurt by knowing her weaknesses and fears. To put it mildly, she had trust issues.

She didn't want anyone to know about her panic attacks but because of Amelia, he knew. And he did exactly what she didn't want anyone to do — try and analyze her. Or think that every hiccup was a result of her panic attacks like he did on the mound, in front of thousands of people, under excruciating heat while she struggled to get an out. At least he had that good grace to be embarrassed.

"I get that. I do."

She thought she was saved from further questions until he continued.

"But why me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why am I in a box? Why don't you want me to know things about you besides your pitches?"

He could get so deep when he wanted to. Most people allowed her to say things and move, but not Mike. He was like her therapist, able to ween out things from the most seemingly benign comments.

"It's not your job to be that person for me."

"I can be that person. I want to be that person."

She looked at him and wondered if her face had the same look of shock that was on his right now. Sometimes he seemed to say things to her he didn't know he was about to say or maybe even felt. He was gruff but there was always that marshmallow center that seeped through; even when he was being stern she knew it came from a good place. She could see it in his eyes.

"Why? It comes with lousy pay and, as you know, even lousier hours."

That reminded them both of the night he found out about her panic attacks. The night he was with Amelia, and now they both knew the other was thinking of how Mike was having sex with Amelia, her agent.

A gust of wind ripped through her jacket and she pulled it tighter against her body. She leaned a bit closer to him, her body gravitating toward the heat his body emanated. If he noticed, he didn't let on.

"You're going through things I can't imagine but I want to be there to help you."

She nodded. "Superstar for over a decade stopping the clueless rookie from embarrassing the team."

"No. More like Mike helping Ginny because he cares about her."

When she looked over at him she was met with a piercing stare. When they made eye contact, sometimes it was hard to break it. There was an intensity, a pull they couldn't break until she didn't know what to do with herself.

"We're not just co-workers, Baker. Or is that what you want? Professional separate from personal? Can't handle someone being both? Isn't that what Amelia is?"

"And that's why that relationship, all parts of it, are hanging on by a thread." She hadn't meant to say that to him. "See, that's the kind of things I can't say to you because you're...with her."

"Don't worry. I won't say anything."

The idea that she even had to worry about that is why she wanted the divide. Would he let it slip? What damage would that cause for her with Amelia? One more thing dancing around in her already cluttered mind.

"You can't be that person for me when you're that person for Amelia. Kind of like a conflict of interest."

"I'm not that person for Amelia. She probably doesn't even have a person. One half of her brain probably does crisis management to keep the other half from knowing what's going on," he muttered.

She wasn't sure that last part was for her.

"Look, what I really want is for things not to be weird between us. If this thing between me and Amelia is going to be a problem-"

"I'm not going to have issues because you're dating," she said with a shrug.

"It's not that I'm dating. It's _who_ I'm dating. Amelia is your agent. I didn't think that would be a big deal, but I was wrong."

She was about to tell him that it was okay and it didn't bother her. She wanted to be a big person and actually mean it. But she couldn't. And would that mean he would end things with Amelia? Mike didn't seem like the type to care about someone's blessing. She didn't want to be this person. Her feelings weren't more important than his or Amelia's. Two people she cared about. Two people who had her back.

Be the bigger person, she told herself. Her mother, her father, Will, the team — it was always about her. For once in her life, it had to be about someone else.

"It's okay. As long as you two are happy."

"You mean that?" He looked at her.

"I will," she said.

He stared at her then nodded. They sat in silence and watched the rest of the sun disappear below the horizon.


End file.
